Hard to Take
by FreelanceMisanthrope
Summary: Post-Movie. Ariadne struggles with guilt; escapes from it in dreams. Cobb's stricken as his new, peaceful life leaves him wanting. Eames realizes he may never get what or who he wants. &, Arthur's too far away to touch or be touched. E/Art; E/OC; Art/Ari


_**Hard to Take**_

_**Disclaimer: You know the drill. Don't own the characters, don't make money off this. **_

_Summary: After the Fischer job, Ariadne struggles with the morality, or lack thereof, of what she's done, and turns more and more to her dreams to avoid the crushing guilt she feels. Yusuf wonders whether he should continue supplying her dreams, not wanting her to become one of his dreamers. Dominic tries to fight off the realization that his new, peaceful life leaves him wanting. Eames realizes he may never get who or what he wants. And Arthur is one step removed from it all, too far away to touch or to be touched. _

_Eames/Arthur, Eames/OC, eventual Arthur/Ariadne_

_Title from the song Mad World. _

Chapter One: Worn-Out Faces

As Ariadne headed toward customs, she struggled to avoid being overwhelmed by the veritable tempest of mostly negative emotions that threatened to reduce her to a nervous wreck at this, the worst of all possible moments. Just thirty more minutes, she assured herself, fingers gripping at, then reluctantly releasing, her passport as she passed the security checkpoint. She looked over, lips quirking into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as they took in the sight of Dominic, home free.

'Well,' she thought, "There's that, at least.' They'd accomplished _something _good. Bringing a family back together, healing a fractured psyche. Both Saito and Cobb had surely benefited from the successful inception, but Ariadne couldn't shake the feeling that some of the parties involved, 'Or maybe just me,' had come out worse for the experience.

Interrupted from those heady thoughts by the return of her passport, she gave a small nod and mumbled a, "Thank you," which was perfunctory at best. She lurched forward, feeling dissociated from her own body, as if life were performing for her in slow motion while she searched the crowd for familiar faces.

She could barely see Saito, just outside, seemingly unaffected by the heavy rain as he shouted over the weather to his driver- who, knowing Saito, was also a body guard.

And behind her, six or eight people back from where she'd been in the line, was Eames, 'sweet-talking' his way into a strip search. Whether or not that had been his plan all along was anyone's guess, as she'd come to learn the man was prone to putting himself in all sorts of minor trouble 'just for the hell of it'.

She caught sight of Yusuf, looking quite flustered as he drug along a rolling suitcase and spoke what she could only assume was some Kenyan dialect, having what seemed like a fairly good-natured argument with the person on the other line. She felt a pang of sadness at the sudden silly realization that she'd probably never get to ask him what it was about.

They'd all agreed it would be best to go their separate ways, at least for a good long while, to wait until they were sure there was no heat on them- from Cobol, Fischer, the law, or anyone else. Cobb was retiring, who the hell knew what Eames would be getting into, Saito was getting back to... who knows, probably corporate espionage, Yusuf was going back to his dreamers, Ariadne was going back to school after a short sabbatical...

And Arthur...? Life zipped into fast forward to catch up for time lost, and Ariadne swayed on her feet, feeling a little sick, realizing she'd been absent from her own mind for quite a while. When she came to, she had already grabbed her suitcase from the baggage claim. She began to move toward the exit to brave the storm and hail a cab to the hotel that'd already been booked for her.

"Hey!" she protested as a passerby clipped her shoulder, hard, her hair flying from the force of it as she stumbled backward. Off balance, she felt herself begin to fall until steady hands gripped her from behind, one on her upper arm, the other on her waist. Effectively 'caught', she nearly pulled a muscle looking over her shoulder to see who it was.

Arthur smiled down at her, letting her stand on her own once she'd regained her balance. Relishing the slight pinkish hue to her features when she turned to face him, he asked, "Are you alright, miss?" in the way one might a stranger, but with a familiarity in tone only the budding architect could pick up on.

"Yes, fine, thanks," she heard herself saying, surprised by the brisk, curt timbre of her own voice. He was also taken aback by it, if his vaguely puzzled expression was any indication.

"Well, you be careful out there," he said, motioning enigmatically toward the rain outside, words dripping with double meanings- half casual chit-chat and half concerned warnings. That said, he held out his hand for her to shake.

She eyed it suspiciously, wondering what he was trying to pass her; she knew Arthur rarely did something without a reason. Arthur's face went blank as he took in her warily guarded expression. Had the Fischer job really aged her that much? Gone was the passionate, naive girl who Cobb had recruited, replaced by the tired, worry-worn creature in front of him. He could only hope the effects were temporary.

"You too," she mumbled finally, shaking her head and ignoring the proffered hand. She just wanted a moment to think, some time alone and free of deception and espionage and things that seemed real but weren't, seemed to be one thing but were actually another. Her hand blindly felt at her pants' pocket, and she relaxed slightly when she felt her chess piece through fabric.

Brows furrowed, Arthur watched her intently, more than a little concerned, searching her eyes for god knows what. Best to drop it for now, he surmised, and shrugged a bit. He'd certainly be following up, and soon.

"Thanks," he said blandly, turning on heel and heading deeper into LAX. Ariadne watched him disappear into the crowd, feeling a bitter, inexplicable longing. She shook her head again, sighing and trudging toward the exit, a cab, and the much-needed solitude of a five star hotel room.

She'd done everything one could do in a hotel room without another person or a PASIV, and it wasn't even nine at night yet. She'd showered so long the water had run cold and the soft skin of her hands and feet had wrinkled and turned pallid and grey. She'd left her dirty clothes crumpled in a pile on the bathroom floor; she'd pulled everything out of her suitcase and put it away in the room's various dressers and bedside tableau as if she'd be there for weeks, even though she'd be hopping on another plane late the next day. She'd watched an hour or so of television, wrapped up in a luxuriously soft towel, flipping through channels restlessly and buying pay-per-view movies she could only get five or ten minutes into before she'd begin to browse again.

Every show was crushingly lackluster in comparison to her dreams. No screen could match the clarity, the vibrancy, the... reality the PASIV induced.

She turned the television off with disgust, giving her hair one last tussle to coax the almost-dry locks into some semblance of a style. She stood and loosened the half knot on her towel, letting it fall to the floor as she mentally arranged several outfits out of the clothes she had with her in the room- one for sleep, one for a walk outside, one for a quick excursion to the bar on the hotel's ground floor. She doubted she'd be sleeping any time soon, she felt, somehow, too restless for a walk…

"Well, if there was ever a time to start drinking," she signed, retrieving the clothes for the bar-ensemble from the various pieces' temporary homes to their respective places on her body. Matching sky blue undergarments, utilitarian and plain; comfortable black slacks, black socks, black flats; a plain white round-necked blouse with three-quarter sleeves, and a blue scarf.

She retrieved her wallet, made sure the electronic key to her room was ensconced therein, and found herself at the bar a few minutes and one elevator ride later. She was relieved to find it quite sparingly populated for the most part, and easily found herself a solitary seat at the dimly-lit bar. She motioned to the bartender, looking over the rows and rows of liquor and beer on display, taking in the top 40 music playing softly out of speakers in the ceiling.

She ordered a strawberry daiquiri and set up her tab, smiling a little at the bright green umbrella that garnished it when it was placed in front of her. She sipped lazily from the straw, looking to her right at a removed section of equally dimly lit booths when she heard a loud, drunken, incredibly British rendition of the song playing over the speakers.

"I wanna be a billionaire, so feckin' bad, buy all o' th' things I never 'ad…"

She gave a little wave to the bartender and got out of her seat, heading toward the familiar voice, a small smile lighting up her features when she saw first Eames… then Arthur. The former winked at her when she came into view, and the latter scowled at the former when he noticed the gesture. Then, he turned to Ariadne.

"Hey, you're the girl from the airport," he teased, one of those almost-snobby, sophisticated little smirks on his face.

"Yeah, fancy seeing you here. What are the odds of that?" she remarked with a good-natured roll of the eyes, sliding into the booth next to Eames, across from Arthur, swirling her frozen concoction with her straw. "And you, sir," she continued, looking at the Forger with a bit of that characteristic Ariadne brightness in her eyes, "Just how drunk are you, exactly? Because that was the most terrible sing-along I've ever heard."

Eames made a show of yawning, 'sneaking' an arm behind her back and protesting, "I've only had a few. Had to get your attention somehow, anyhow." She batted his arm away, laughing, then laughing even harder at the death glare etched into Arthur's features. Eames held his hand up in an 'I surrender' pose.

Ariadne took a quick look around, and decided it was safe to drop the façade of them being strangers. "So why are you guys here anyway? I thought—"

"Sir Worry Wart over 'ere thought you seemed off at the airport. Said you wouldn't take his information. He wanted to check on you, I wanted to get plastered, seemed easiest to merge the two," Eames interrupted, leaning perhaps a mite too close. Ariadne ignored him, sipping her drink to hide a slight pout. Arthur _had_ been trying to pass something, just like she'd thought. Sleight of hand, lies, treachery- that was all her new bedfellows engaged in, it seemed.

She felt tired all over again, worn out by everything that'd occurred in the past day, the past few weeks, the time since she'd met Cobb. Arthur, who'd relaxed imperceptibly at her laugh, tensed again at the dull look of suspicion in her eyes. But, he said nothing.

"..Ah," she said lamely, eyes breaking away from Arthur's ever-unreadable expression to stare into her drink. The point man slid a piece of paper onto the table, and stiffly explained, "That's the address of the server where we'll be putting our contact info, and that's also the password. If you could memorize it and destroy the paper, I would be much obliged." She nodded mutely, stirring her drink again, not looking up.

Eames downed the rest of his drink and winced, teeth-bared, at the taste, then they all sat in an uncomfortable silence that threatened to stretch on and on…

"Well!" Eames said brightly, clapping his hands together, "Why don't we just—"

"Actually," Arthur interrupted, and stood as he spoke, "We were just leaving." Eames looked at him with wide, indignant eyes, a thousand snippy retorts forming in his throat and dying before they'd even seen the light of day. The forger scowled at Arthur, then turned to Ariadne and gave her a lopsided sort of smile, clapping her shoulder lightly and giving her a fatherly kiss on the temple.

"You take care of yourself, alright, darling?" he asked, looking deep into her eyes much as Arthur had earlier, his words tinged with the same deep _meaning_. "And keep in touch."

"Of course. Yeah, yeah, I will," Ariadne said with a sigh, rolling her eyes a little and turning back to her drink.

She watched Arthur leave as Eames settled the tab, then watched Eames leave, too.

Alone again, she felt the realization of it- the _reality _of it- sink into her bones, and she ached something fierce.

_A/N: That's probably the last we'll see of Ariadne for a while. Next chapter: The rest of Eames and Arthur's night- Eames schemes, Arthur stews._


End file.
